


Battle Casualty

by lmirandas



Series: Casualties [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Divorce, Kingsman Canon "death", M/M, Merlin is the eldest Holmes brother, Merlin to the rescue, Mycroft and Harry are married, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Ridiculous long names, That is what the MCD tag is for here, strained marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: John Watson is not impressed. His week is ruined by Richmond Valentine. Luckily, the eldest Holmes brother is up to the challenge of saving them. And no, we don't mean Mycroft Holmes.





	Battle Casualty

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what possessed me to write this one. I had it in my mind for so long, that I finally decided it was time. Not betaed, not britpicked, any mistakes are my own.

John thought his week couldn't get any worse. The Universe was about to prove him wrong. It started as a regular week, a compelling case to keep his manic partner from shooting the walls in their flat, no human remains in any of the home appliances and regular sex. He couldn't ask for more. Turns out not being kidnapped from home, by someone other than Mycroft that is, should have been on their list.

The invitation to dinner came the day before, in an envelope with a wax seal with the letters 'RV'. John was about to open it when Sherlock saw him, took it from his hands and threw it in the garbage.

"Oi! I was about to read that!"  
"And I was stopping you. We don't need anything from that man. So crass, so utterly vulgar. As billionaires come, I think the only one I dislike more is the other American, the one with the idiotic tv show. No, no, don't tell me his name, I've deleted it, I don't want to go through the motions of eliminating him again from my brain. This one though," he said once again taking the invitation from John, who had just rescued the thing, and splitting the envelope in half for good measure, "this one I retained. He is up to something. It's more my brother's business than mine."  
"Some espionage? An international crisis?"  
"A catastrophe. No clear image of what at the moment, but I believe we will see soon enough. Richmond Valentine is not a man that takes antagonism lightly."  
"Richmond Val... bloody hell Sherlock! The man is a philanthropist for fuck's sake."  
"I'm not wrong on this instance John. Richmond Valentine is a dangerous man. What the public sees is just a facade."

John was still not convinced, but his partner started a well-placed distraction by snogging him senseless until the envelope, Richmond Valentine and everything else disappeared from his mind. Sherlock was right on all counts, the smug git, not that they were in any position to be proud of at the moment. Locked in a cell, a comfortable one but unable to leave it anyway, with Mycroft of all people, joined by his deadly assistant who was quietly sipping some champagne, sitting down in a black leather sofa, while her boss perused a historical treaty on the Roman Empire. The cell had a rock interior but had all the amenities of a luxurious hotel suite, including two master bedrooms, each with an ensuite bathroom, and John was sure he had spotted a jacuzzi in one of them. There were fluffy white towels with the monogram 'RV' on the racks, which heated them to a comfortable temperature. The rooms smelt like lavender. John was still trying to wrap his mind around all this, while Sherlock braved himself to the task of disabling the door mechanism with a tie pin.

"How did you both even wound up here?"

John was confused to find Mycroft, the embodiment of the British Government, locked in a cell. He knew the man; he was never where he didn't intend to be. Imagine the surprise when Valentine's goons threw them in the cell, and they realised who was sharing it with them. Before that, John had the vague hope that the man was going to be the one to bail Sherlock and himself from this mess. At being addressed directly, Mycroft, a slave to his upbringing, put his book down turning his best unimpressed grimace towards his brother's partner.

"We had a mole in our office. I had refused an invitation for a "chat" with Valentine, and apparently, he took offence. Hence, the kidnapping, the proposition and the locking us both here. Anthea was unconscious during the whole ordeal. Even his assistant didn't want to face her in combat."  
"He was deemed too valuable to dispose of, and they thought allowing me to live and locking me with him would prove a point in their favour. The man seems to think we are romantically involved."  
"So besides being a megalomaniac, he is also blind," drawled Sherlock from his vantage point while holding two identical red cables in his hands, "anyone with a pair of functioning eyes can see my brother is a raging homosexual."  
"What is the saying, brother dearest? People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones?"  
"I didn't mean to demean you brother, sincerely, even though you and your partner both carry a stick, no, better amend, an umbrella, up both your arses. And not even in the so-called 'fun' way. How is dear Harry faring these days?"

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes at his little brother, putting on the face of a long-suffering martyr in the battle against a brat and his attempts at wit. John would have been worried about them if he didn't already know how much they cared about each other, barbs and banter the only way they knew how to interact. For two incredibly smart men, regular expressions of affection didn't come easily to them. John, with his infinite patience, managed to pull the younger Holmes out of his shell enough for them to finally act on the feelings they both shared, but it took a lot of time for the consulting detective to scuttle out and see the sun. His big brother was even worse than his partner, so John was surprised to hear Sherlock teasing his brother about apparently a significant other. A significant other whose name was Harry, which made John think of a mate, someone who might share a pint with him at the pub. Wishful thinking, because if Sherlock wasn't just acting insufferable as usual and he was accurate, not spiteful, if this Harry behaved like Mycroft they would probably have nothing in common. Pity, he needed someone on his corner while dating a Holmes.

"As you have known for quite some time, Harold and me, we are done. He left. I sent the divorce papers ages ago. It's quite beneath you to keep bringing it up every time we see each other."  
"I thought you might have seen reason. It seems I was mistaken. Careful, Mycroft. I'm not sure you will find someone as patient as Harry Hart. Ever."  
"Content yourself with keeping Dr Watson happy, brother dearest, instead of meddling in other people's personal affairs."  
"Alright, now each of you back to your corner. Sherlock, maybe try to concentrate on opening that door? Mycroft, you seemed so interested in that book you were reading. Why aren't you helping at all?"

Anthea smirked before giving John her usual deadpan delivery.

"It's more entertaining to watch them bicker."

John rolled his eyes at her, while Sherlock renewed his efforts with the door.

"It's useless brother, just wait for him to come, he will let us out."  
"I'm not quitting! Maybe this time it's going to be us who help him and their ridiculous organisation."  
"Says the man who used to used to ask Harold every day if he could join the Kingsmen."  
"I was ten!"

Sherlock was again distracted, which made him groan out loud when the door opened, and a bald man in a suit, wearing glasses and a no-nonsense expression entered the cell. He had the air of someone who would rather be anywhere than there.

"I was almost done!"  
"Sure, Sherlock, I bet a few more tries with the tie pin would have done the ticket."  
"What's with the accent?"  
"You like it? I've been trying an accent producing program. Since Arthur thought it was useless and a little ridiculous, which it is not, I decided to try it on myself. This one is North East Fife."  
"Interesting. If Arthur decides against it, I would be interested in acquiring it for MI6, if you think you could part with your creation, that is. And you are late, brother."

John gasped, he could see some similarities between the three men, mostly in gestures. He couldn't evaluate their speech pattern since it seemed this one liked to play with contraptions. He looked about the same age as Mycroft; the difference between them was evidently not as big as between Mycroft and Sherlock.

"He is the eldest, Dr Watson, four years older than me and eleven years older than Sherlock."  
"Mycroft, deducing people like that is still rude. Hamish Holmes, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but you can call me Merlin. I am the normal one."

John laughed, "It seems we share a name! I'm a Hamish too, in my case, my middle name."  
"It's his middle name too."  
"Quiet, William."  
"Make me, Sherrinford."  
"This behaviour is so childish. Sherlock, Merlin, stop it."  
"Oh? And pray, dear Rudolph, how do you plan to stop us?"

Mycroft glared at his elder brother, but he seemed distracted. It was not his best effort; John knew a well-placed glare from Mycroft was a thing to behold. He looked worried, like he was expecting someone else instead of his brother.

"I thought Galahad would have taken the opportunity to gloat a little. The man has a saviour complex, and he so likes beating me on my own game."

Merlin kept an impassive face if you asked John, but the moment Mycroft looked at him, he collapsed. Anthea was quick enough to catch him, attuned to her employer's needs as usual. Mycroft looked lost, his face inexpressive like someone gave his massive brain a reset. Sherlock looked at his brother with a pained expression, but at last, he was the one able to voice his brother's question.

"Merlin, where is Galahad? Where is Harry?"  
"I'm afraid we had a battle casualty, little one."

Mycroft closed his eyes. It seemed like he never wanted to open them again.

 

 


End file.
